


Shut Your Mouth

by Sharkaiju



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Choking, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, M/M, Pain, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Violence, Strangulation, Violence, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26730799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharkaiju/pseuds/Sharkaiju
Summary: Junkrat won’t shut up, so Roadhog makes him shut up. Choking/strangulation (non-consensual), graphic descriptions of asphyxiation, very rough blow job, lots of pain, mention of vomiting, dislocated jaw, Roadie is mean af in this one
Relationships: Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Roadhog | Mako Rutledge
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Shut Your Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring the return of mean!Roadhog and bitchy!Junkrat. Set sometime before Overwatch but it’s not super important when, just sometime before they got kicked out of Junkertown. It's up to your imagination whether this takes place in the same timeline as JunkBrat.

_ Shut Your Mouth _

They’d been tramping around Junkertown all day, and nearly as long Junkrat had been trying to pick a fight with Roadhog. Hog had been ignoring it, and frankly Rat was getting pretty damn sick of it. Least he could do was acknowledge him. There was nothing he hated more than being ignored.

They’d stopped inside a dusty bar to escape the punishing sun, but getting a drink in his hand hadn’t improved Junkrat’s attitude much. If anything it had worsened his mood; it had certainly loosened his tongue. He started in bitching again within a few minutes of downing his first beer.

“Wouldn’t have lost that score if it wasn’t for you,” he griped, glaring at Roadhog, who sat unmoving across from him at a tiny, sticky table. His silence irritated Junkrat more. _“You’re_ the one that screwed it up,” he reiterated, ignoring the part of his brain that reminded him that wasn’t true.

“Was saving _your_ ass,” Roadhog growled. It was more than he’d said all day, since the failed heist. 

Knowing that was true stung Junkrat’s ego and made him feel bitchier. “Bullshit,” he quipped. “I had it under control. You shouldn’t have butted in! I can handle myself. Don’t need your bloody help.”

“Looked like you did,” Roadhog said simply. His tone was getting a little short, though. Junkrat could tell he was starting to get on his nerves. _About bloody time_.

“Yeah, well maybe you should get yer eyes checked, then,” Junkrat said sassily. “You think I can’t handle a fuckin’ bucket o’ bolts? Half the treasure, my arse. You don’t even deserve a 3% cut of it, ya wanker. Useless.”

Roadhog gave him a warning glare from behind the smokey lenses of his gas mask. “Shut up, Rat,” he rumbled, his tone low and foreboding. “You’re pissing me off.”

Junkrat didn’t take the hint. He was spoiling for a fight, and anyway, Roadhog had it coming. Disrespecting him that way. He didn’t need bloody saving, he knew how to take care of himself. He wasn’t scared of a bloody nose, for fuck’s sake. Junkrat would show him. Show him how much he needed his bloody help. “Fuck you,” he crowed, rather loudly. A few other people at the bar glanced over, probably wondering if a brawl would ensue.

He didn’t think it would. Not that easily, anyway. Figured he’d need to keep pushing Hog’s buttons to get a rise out of him. Apparently his bitching had had an accumulative effect, though; Roadhog’s huge hand suddenly shot out to encircle Junkrat’s scrawny neck, squeezing just enough to compress his airway. “Rat,” he growled, “I told you to shut up.”

“F-fuck you,” Junkrat managed to say again, more hoarsely this time. He knew Roadhog wasn’t fucking around, but he couldn’t help himself. Self-preservation had never been his strong suit.

The fist around his throat tightened. Roadhog’s face was inscrutable behind his mask, but the energy was undeniable. “I’m sick of your voice, you little puke.”

Junkrat’s hand automatically came to Roadhog’s arm, grasping at it against his will. _Damn it._ He didn’t want to let the big man know he was in pain. As the grip on his throat continued to tighten, though, it was becoming more difficult to keep it to himself.

“Gonna make you shut up,” Roadhog growled, “one way or the other.”

A twinge of fear went through Junkrat. He was suddenly acutely aware of how much bigger Roadhog was than him. The fear he felt made him angry, though. He wasn’t about to let Roadhog win; he’d die before he’d concede defeat. “Rack off, pig face,” he growled between clenched teeth.

Suddenly the fingers around his neck tightened drastically. Rat was surprised at the sudden increase of pressure; if Hog’s hand had been tight on his neck before, it now felt like a vice. Pain bloomed in his throat as he felt his airway being constricted and closed. A shock of fear pierced his belly, instinctual and ancient, but his expression remained defiant and surly.

“You are one mouthy little piece of shit,” Roadhog growled quietly. His big hand dug into Junkrat’s throat. The fast, bird-like pulse fluttered between his thumb and forefinger. “Wonder what it’d take to get you to shut the fuck up.” People were looking at them now; Junkrat could feel their gazes on them. Roadhog ignored them. He was confident nobody would have the nerve to say anything, and Junkrat realized with a sinking feeling he was right.

Junkrat’s throat burned and ached as the big junker’s fingers crushed into the tender flesh, but there was no way he was gonna let Roadhog know he was hurt, know he was scared. He glared into Roadhog’s inscrutable gaze with eyes like bright little flames. It was getting harder to pretend he wasn’t scared, though; he would swear Roadhog’s grip was getting even tighter. His throat ached in protest, his lungs and chest burning for air. A little wriggle went through his body, instinctively trying to pull out of the grip that held him. He could feel his throat thickening with phlegm, pressure building in his ears as the blood was blocked. The muscles across his ribs and sternum felt pulled taut, desperately trying to suck in air where there was none.

He couldn’t believe how fast it was all happening. Or maybe the fact that everything seemed slowed down was fucking with him. Time seemed to be crawling by at a snail’s pace, except for his need to take a breath. His lungs seemed to be days ahead of the rest of the world. Like it had been hours since he’d had a breath. Meanwhile Roadhog was breathing thickly and heavily through the filters of his gas mask and just watching him, watching with that fathomless unchangeable expression of his mask, seeming very fine with the idea of letting Junkrat die.

Now the fear was getting harder to ignore. Pressure built behind Rat’s eyes and in his sinuses, throbbing with each heartbeat. Fuck, he would swear he could feel the blood vessels in his eyes bursting. Impossible pressure and congestion built inside his skull; he could feel his lips moving soundlessly, smacking like a fish. He couldn’t seem to control it. His legs twitched beneath him, trying to kick out, but he couldn’t seem to coordinate his movements; his boot and pegleg scraped uselessly against the floor. 

Were people seeing this? Surely they must be - the bar was quiet but far from empty. Rat found himself caught between embarrassment at being seen and hope that someone _would_ see, someone would intervene. But who would have the balls?

Rat’s hands scrabbled at the big junker’s forearm, fingernails digging into the flesh, but it was a losing battle. Hog didn’t even seem to notice the thick red welts Rat had dug into his skin; and meanwhile Junkrat was losing coordination and strength with every passing second. Black edged at the corners of his vision. Fuck, he was going to pass out. Some detached and strangely calm part of him wondered if Roadhog would go ahead and kill him then - if the big man would just crush off his neck and leave him dead on the filthy floor of this bar.

_The treasure_ , the small logical part of his brain whispered, _he doesn’t know where the treasure is. Won’t kill you so long as you have that over him._ Junkrat was finding that hard to believe. He could hear himself making small gurgling sounds, the clatter of his pegleg against the floor, sounding like he was hearing it from under water. His hands and face felt numb, twitchy. He couldn’t seem to locate his own body in space; only his lungs, tight and aching for air, and his throat, crushed and pulverized in Roadhog’s iron fist. Nothing else seemed to exist. Oh, he was definitely going to die. Apparently Roadhog had decided that shutting up that annoying rodent was more important than his take of the Omnium treasure.

Just as the blackness began to overtake his vision and even the pain in his throat and lungs was fading into nothingness, Junkrat felt the big hand release. Air rushed into his tortured lungs, tasting icy cold and raw on his throat. He felt the ground under his hands suddenly, unaware of falling. He gasped in raspy, shrill takes of air as his numb hands shook on the sticky bar floor. A series of lung-wracking coughs tore out of him, thick with phlegm and slobber, splattering his forearms and the floor and Roadhog’s boots. His vision turned black, pinholed, slowly cleared in a blur of static: he saw the scarred floor, Roadhog’s huge black boots, his own forearms strung with ropes of drool. He could feel the wetness of tears streaming down his face too, and some part of him realized the whole place must be looking at him, but he was _breathing,_ he was _fucking breathing_. That was all that mattered.

Suddenly big hands were fisted in Junkrat’s harness and he felt himself dragged to his feet. His legs trembled violently beneath him, pegleg threatening to buckle, but Roadhog held him upright. “You ready to shut up now?” Roadhog growled.

Junkrat couldn’t even answer; still coughing and choking for breath, he could only wheeze and spatter a mist of spittle over the rubber of Roadhog’s mask. All the fire had gone out of him. He was _scared._

“That’s what I thought.” Roadhog pulled the smaller man even closer to his masked face. “Are you ready to _behave?”_

Junkrat nodded furiously, resisting the urge to grab at his throat, at Roadhog’s arms. “I’ll behave,” he wheezed, too out of breath to care how whingey he sounded. “I’ll behave, I promise, I promise.”

Roadhog glared at him from behind the mask. “I don’t believe you.” He grabbed the back of Rat’s harness and started hauling him towards the lavatories.

“Wha - What’re you doing?!” Junkrat rasped. He was glad his own voice was still stifled by the trauma to his throat, and came out barely above a whisper; he didn’t want any more attention drawn to them, and frankly, he was afraid to speak up too much after that. But he was more afraid of what would happen if Roadhog took him into the bathrooms.

“Gonna teach you a lesson,” Hog said flatly. He moved at a brisk pace that Junkrat could barely keep up with; his boot and pegleg were hardly touching the ground as he scurried alongside the big man. Roadhog hauled him into the bathroom and slammed the door behind them, locking it.

Junkrat cowered before the huge junker, all bravado gone from him. “I’m sorry,” he said, regretting it as soon as it came out of his mouth. Roadhog’s gloved hand grabbed him again, this time crushing around his sharp jaw so hard Junkrat was sure Hog would crush his teeth out.

“Shut up,” Roadhog growled, shoving the scrawny junker to his knees. “Put your mouth to the one pleasurable use it’s got.” He unzipped his pants, freeing his half-hard cock unceremoniously.

Rat swallowed hard, eyeing Roadhog’s massive meat fearfully. He’d never been able to take Roadhog in his mouth before, not more than the tip anyway. But the big man was not going to be argued with. Better a sore jaw than to have his neck twisted the rest of the way off. Junkrat sidled up to the older man, taking his cock in one hand, tonguing the tip.

Hog was having none of that, though. He grabbed Junkrat’s face and forced himself violently in, so hard and fast that he felt the boy’s teeth scrape painfully along his length. Junkrat made a thin squeaking sound, his hands grappling at Roadhog’s hips in protest. “Shut the fuck up,” Hog growled, fisting his hand in Rat’s hair, holding him in place.

Junkrat whined again, his mouth filled with Roadhog’s musky cock, the tip pressing dangerously against his tortured throat. His senses were filled with the taste of sweat and outback dust and flesh, so much flesh that he couldn’t breathe around it. His throat spasmed in protest, still aching and raw from being throttled only a minute before, and his jaw felt like it was being ripped apart. Tears leaked from his eyes and he exhaled a nasty, snotty snort out his nose in an attempt to move air, in an attempt to stay calm. That was most important - stay calm, breathe, just fucking _breathe._

Roadhog was still swelling inside his mouth. Rat made an attempt at sucking, but gagged, his throat tightening painfully around the heavy cock. God, his throat felt like it was going to rupture. His jaw popped painfully, his belly spasming as he fought against the urge to gag. He didn’t even want to think what Roadhog would do if he puked on him.

The tightening of Rat’s throat must have felt good, though, because Roadhog groaned and tugged at Junkrat’s hair. Junkrat wheezed a wet breath through his nose and tried to suck again, half-sucking and half-gagging, hoping to hurry the end along. He could feel the pulsing of Roadhog’s cock against his tongue. It wouldn’t be long. _Just hold out another minute or so. Come on_.

God, the ache in his jaw. It was spreading into his ear, down into his eustachian tube. Felt like a hot knife being stabbed into the hinge of his jaw. It was rivaling the pain of his swollen throat. Tears spilled down Junkrat’s face, and he fought the urge to sob. _Just hold out a little longer. Make him cum, he’ll be in a better humour then_.

Suddenly Roadhog’s big hands were grabbing Junkrat under the chin, forcing his mouth open wider, and he thrust even deeper into the boy’s abused throat. Junkrat heard a loud, awful, crunching pop deep inside his ear, feeling like his jaw had been ripped free from his skull. He let out a howl of pain around Roadhog’s cock, nearly collapsing, nearly puking, but Roadhog held him steady by his bruised jaw and came violently in his mouth, cum filling his closed throat, overflowing from his nostrils in thick white ropes, choking him, drowning him.

The massive cock finally pulled out of Rat’s mouth and he gagged violently, cum and slobber drooling down his chin as he choked in a breath. His jaw throbbed and ached; he quickly realized he couldn’t shut his mouth properly. His chin jutted at an unnatural angle. He moaned and swooned a little, feeling dizzy, too exhausted to cry even though he very much wanted to.

“Hold still,” he heard Roadhog say above him, and suddenly the rough, calloused fingers were grabbing at his jaw again. Junkrat made a high, thin sound or protest, unable to speak, too frightened to do much fighting back. Roadhog’s thick fingers pried into his mouth, gripping his jaw from the inside. “Your jaw’s dislocated.” Junkrat wasn’t surprised. He’d felt Roadhog fucking unhinge it, shoving that massive chode down his throat. He whined again, really wishing Roadhog would get his fingers out of his mouth. He had the feeling Hog was going to do something awful to him, and he wasn’t sure he could take it.

He was right. About the awful part, at least. The big junker shoved his fingers down hard into Rat’s throat and under his chin, forcing his jaw painfully back into position. Junkrat howled, his back arching at a sharp angle as pain exploded through his throat and his ear and the bones of his face. He gagged, whether from pain or from Hog’s fingers jamming down his throat he wasn’t sure, and pitched forward spasmodically, puking frothy beer and traces of cum onto the floor and the front of his pants. Roadhog let him go, stepping back as if to avoid the mess, watching without sympathy as Junkrat gasped, sobbed, braced himself with one hand on the tiles while the other held his swollen jaw. He was shaking all over.

When the smaller man seemed to have finally regained some control of himself, Roadhog grabbed Rat by the harness and hauled him to his feet. Junkrat flinched and whined as the big man unceremoniously grabbed his bruised face in his rough hand, but he dared not protest. After all that, who knew what Roadhog might do?

Roadhog turned Junkrat’s head this way and that, seeming to examine him. “It’s back in place now,” he said coldly, finally releasing him. He glared at Junkrat disdainfully behind his smokey lenses. “Should heal up fine - if you finally learn to keep your fucking mouth shut, that is.”

Rat didn’t think he was talking about blow jobs, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos are appreciated ❤ My tumblr is sharkaiju <\---


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